Take These Broken Wings
by Mirrored In My Mind
Summary: Put in the Winchester home for their next round of foster care, Dean is mistrustful, Sam is terrified, and Jimmy is too busy talking to his angel to worry. Mary finally has the family she has always wanted, but dark forces are waking in the world. She swore to leave her hunter's past behind, but with those skills, she may be the only one capable of saving them all.
1. Chapter 1

"Are you sure?"

It was a rhetorical question and Mary knew it, but she still felt the need to dryly reply, "I think it's a little late for second thoughts, don't you?"

John just barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes, instead opting to take another lap around the living room of their little Kansas home. It wasn't anything special, really. It had a few bedrooms and some bathrooms decorated with truly awful flowery pink tiles (they couldn't quite afford to get it redone, but it was on the to-do list) and a fenced-in yard perfect for some tykes to run around and play in.

Of course, they were still working on that last part.

"Beds are made? Dressers full? We have enough toothbrushes?"

Mary turned with an exasperated sigh to her husband. "Unless something's gotten in and mysteriously done off with their stuff, then yes, all of those are quite ready, and I'll thank you to stop asking questions you full well know the answers to."

Well, one couldn't take any chances, Mary knew, so she'd carved some protective runes into the bedroom the boys would be sharing, and there was a line of salt on the ledge outside the window. Just in case.

Old instincts die hard, after all.

Mary tugged her shirt into place, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. She only just managed to keep her hands steady and ignored the voice in her head that sounded like her father's telling her the importance of _steady hands, steady breath, steady shot_.

From outside, gravel crunched. John whirled around as though someone were invading, lips pressed hard together in an expression many would mistake as disdain but was really just nerves. Not that John would ever admit he was nervous, of course. He'd done a tour in Vietnam, thank you very much, and the thought of facing what was currently sitting in his driveway was not giving him nerves, or making the palms of his hands slick, or his heart stutter in his chest. No, he was just... anticipating the change, was all.

Mary released a hissing breath, smiled with what she knew was genuine affection, and opened up the front door.

A harassed-looking woman stood with three boys on her porch, all looking younger than twelve, all staring up at her with mistrustful eyes.

"Hello," Mary said a little breathlessly. "I'm -"

"John and Mary Winchester? I hope so, otherwise I'm in the wrong place." She sniffed a bit, but didn't so much as crack a smile. Mary stepped to the side just long enough to let her husband shake the woman's hand and sent the boys a winning smile. The youngest glanced up at her, pressing harder into one of the other's side. Those two were brothers, she knew. When no introduction was forthcoming, she capitulated and stood farther back.

"Please, come in." Mary ushered them through the little entrance hall and into the living room. The boys seemed to move almost as one entity, clumping together on the couch as the adults settled on the loveseat and recliner.

"My name is Ada Jameson," the woman said brusquely. "I'm the boys' caseworker. Obviously you've taken the classes and such, so you know about the responsibilities expected of you as long-term foster care parents." The Winchesters nodded. They'd slogged through an astounding number of legal hoops to get their license; home checks, background checks, mental and physical check-ups, hours and hours of classes and training. "I'm just here to provide some information on these three."

She sighed, then, leaning back, and unearthed a briefcase. Setting her glasses back farther on her nose, she rifled through some papers.

"Boys, why don't you introduce yourself?" Ada said as she continued searching for whatever paperwork she needed to give to John and Mary.

The silence that had seemed contemplative from the couch now turned icy. Finally, one of the boys spoke.

"She already knows our names," he snapped. "That's how this goes, innit?"

"It's polite. Please do as I say." She emerged with bundles of paper in hand, several individual stacks of slips bound together by a clip. Interestingly enough, she also came out with a plastic baggie. Pills in bottles shook and rattled as she placed it on top of the paper and handed the whole pile to John, who looked resigned at the thought of more signing.

"Fine." He raked a hand through his hair, but his other was kept firmly tucked at his side. Mary watched the dynamics with interest. "I'm Dean. This is my little brother, Sam. Don't call him Sammy, only I get to do that." Green eyes sparking, he glared around the room until he was satisfied he'd made his point. Jerking his head to the other child, he finished with, "This is Jimmy. He doesn't like being touched. And he doesn't always talk too much." He finished with a snort, as if that simple task had been below his stature to complete.

Mary smiled a bit as little Sam pressed his face into Dean's jacket, knuckles white from the grip he had on Dean's worn jeans. Dean narrowed his eyes at Mary's continued observation, and she could practically feel the distrust rolling off the boy in waves. Jimmy said nothing, staring off and up into the corner of the room, lips just barely parted, as if he were listening to something riveting.

She suspected she knew what the pills were for, now.

"On behalf of our agency," Ada said quietly, shoulders slumping slightly as her true weariness became slightly more evident, "we'd like to thank you for taking all three of them in on such short notice."

"It's not a problem," Mary assured her, smiling at Sam. Dean looped an arm around the young boy's thin shoulders, making Sam relax just a fraction. "We're glad to have them."

"James is on several different types of medication," Ada continued, nodding towards the baggie. "His medical information - including the prescription periods - are in the dossier. You'll probably want Dean's help, he's been with James for several years and knows the ins and outs. Be extremely sure to read the warning labels, some must be taken with food and some must be taken at a certain time every day."

Dean muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath that Mary didn't catch, but John cut in.

"We won't tolerate that kind of language here, young man," he said sternly. "No need to lose privileges your first day."

Taken slightly aback, Dean blinked and said quietly, "Sorry, sir."

"Where will the children be staying?" Ada asked, looking over the rims of her spectacles at John.

"Upstairs, first door on the right."

Ada nodded to the three children. Dean shouldered two of the three little bags they boys had brought in, Sam taking the final one, and lead the trio towards the staircase, where they disappeared with all the elegance of a stampeding herd of wildebeest.

"There are a few things I need to say before I take my leave," the woman said crisply, gesturing for the adults to move into the kitchen, "along with some final paperwork. Please, sit down."

Mary offered her a drink, which she declined, but poured herself a glass of water as she and her husband pored over the paperwork and added signatures and initials where necessary. Once they'd finished, they pushed it across the worn table surface to Ada, who shuffled it a little bit before stowing it back in the slim briefcase at her side.

"I'll be brief," she said, folding her hands on the table and peering at them. "Extraneous details are in the packets I've given you." She nodded to the paperwork that was theirs to keep.

"We were made aware that they were considered 'special needs'," Mary offered.

"In all honesty, the only one with actual special needs is James." Ada massaged the bridge of her nose. "Where to begin..."

"Take your time," Mary encouraged, sipping from her glass. John was a silent, steady rock to her side.

"Dean and Sam have been in and out of foster homes since Dean was four and Sam six months. Their mother was killed in a house fire and their father took off, who knows where. He still hasn't turned up. They had always managed to stay in the same foster home until a placement when Dean was nine and Sam five, at which point both proved to be excellent escape artists and met up somewhere in the city. They picked up the runaway James, last name unknown, and have refused to be separated ever since."

"Jimmy is a runaway?" John clarified. When the caseworker nodded, he asked cautiously, "Have they found his birth parents yet?"

"No," Ada confirmed. "There was no missing persons report that matched his age and build and no Amber Alert for a missing child of his description. Either his parents don't know he's gone - somehow - or don't care to get him back. Hence foster care."

Mary's fingers itched for a knife for a bare moment. That any parent could just abandon their child to the streets, or leave their children behind in their grief. It was deplorable. Her hunter instincts wondered if a shapeshifter hadn't been involved, somehow.

"James has shown signs of schizophrenia, and has additionally been diagnosed with attention deficit disorder and a possible placement on the autism spectrum. Other doctors have suspected other various things, but those are the most definite at this time."

The Winchesters nodded. John asked curiously, "Schizophrenia? Isn't he a little young for that?"

Ada smiled grimly. "In this case? Not at all." She bit her lip absently before sighing. "Might as well tell you," she murmured. "Between placements, Jimmy had... an incident. He attempted to dump a pot of boiling water on himself because - because he believed an angel was watching him and would prevent him from being harmed." She shuddered. "It was a very close call. We're still not sure how he managed to avoid being seen sneaking into the kitchen." She met the shocked gazes of John and Mary. "He will need to be watched," she warned.

"Of course!" Mary said.

"What about Dean and Sam?" John said gruffly. "Are they on any medication?"

"Not at the moment, but they are fiercely protective of each other. They were placed in an abusive home several years ago and are still recovering from the after-effects." She nodded to the packets John still had clutched in his hand. "The police have a restraining order placed against their former foster parent, Gordon Walker, but he was last spotted on the west coast so you should be fine. He treated Sam very - poorly. Do not be surprised if the brothers do not separate themselves in your presence for a good, long while."

Some part of Mary's mind tucked away the name for future investigation. It sounded familiar, which could have meant that Walker was involved in the hunter circuit, but then again, it could have been mentioned on the news and she just recognized it from there. Child abusers, while not exactly frequent, often made national headlines, ones that even their sleepy little town tuned into.

"That should be it," Ada said finally, into the silence that fell on the couple after the anvil of information just imparted. "Samuel and Dean are scheduled to go to counseling once a week. Therapy, you know. Anyways, we'll call you later tomorrow and give you the details, and you can expect a home check the second weekend of next month." She nodded, standing.

John and Mary escorted her to the door and watched as she walked off, nearly stumbling on the gravel driveway in her sensible heels but just managing to catch herself on the hood of her van. John chuckled, but sobered immediately when Mary smacked him on the arm, glaring at his rude behavior.

"Well," she said, watching Ada drive off, "shall we go greet the horde?"

"I suppose," John said, smiling, leaning in and kissing his wife. He hadn't seen her so happy in months, and her joy filled him with warmth in turn.

The pair headed upstairs, careful to make their footfalls loud enough to hear from the bedroom. They didn't want to startle their new charges, after all. John flashed a grin over his shoulder at Mary and knocked on the wooden door frame.

Inside, the boys jumped, the springs of the bed they'd been sitting on creaking quietly. Sam dived for Dean, who stared defiantly at John.

"May we come in?" Mary asked.

"'S your house," Dean muttered.

"This is your room," Mary countered. "As long as you're not in danger, if you don't want us in your room, all you have to do is say so. This is your space, okay?"

Dean's mouth fell open, startled. From his chest, the Winchesters heard a soft gasp of surprise, the first noise they'd heard Sam make the whole day.

"We just want to go over some house rules, if you're feeling up to discussing it," John offered.

"Sure," Dean said slowly. "But, uh, don't sit on the beds?" He said it like a question, and Mary immediately knew he was testing the boundaries of the 'your room' edict. John seemed to understand as well and stepped forward, leaning on the dresser. Mary dared to go a little farther inside and sat down on the rug, smiling up at the surprised boys.

Dean's face colored a bit as she smiled gently at him and his brother. Jimmy glanced down at her for a second before resuming his open-mouthed staring pose from earlier.

"So, just a few things to start out with," she began. "John and I are in charge - we've made these rules not to constrain you or force you to do our bidding, but to provide you with a good experience and a solid foundation for the day when you're out of the system and living on your own."

"Most of the 'don't' rules are common sense," John said from the doorway. "No fighting, no messing around with sharp stuff or electrical things without one of us to supervise, try not to break anything, you know? Easy stuff."

Mary nodded. "I stay at home during the day while John works," she explained, "so I'm always available if you need help with anything."

"Sure," Dean said quietly. "Are there - I mean - do we have, y'know, chores 'n stuff?"

"Yes." Dean couldn't quite contain his pout, which made both parents chuckle.

"We have a very basic chore chart set up, and a good reward system to go with it," Mary said, brushing her hair out of her face. "Every week, you'll draw one chore slip from our chore jar. Every day, if you do that chore without asking, you get two points. If I have to remind you to do it, you get one point, and if you don't do it at all, you get no points. There's a list of rewards on the fridge that you pay points to get - for example, one week with no chores is twenty points, understand?"

There were a couple of nods from the bed.

"If you think the chore isn't really age appropriate, say, like asking Sam to do the dishes, we'll let you re-draw. We won't force you to do anything, but all actions have consequences, so keep that in mind. If you are behaving inappropriately, or have broken a common sense rule, you will get punished - we won't spank, but you will lose privileges."

Mary adopted a thinking pose, trying to remember if there was anything else that needed to be said. She twisted around so she was facing her husband. "Anything I'm forgetting, John?"

Satisfied with her eloquent and gentle delivery of the house rules, John just shook his head. "Nope, that about covers it. Anything else we'll announce when it's time."

"Excellent." She made a small noise as she pushed herself to her feet, brushing the non-existent dust off her rear. "Well, that's it, I suppose. We'll get out of your hair for the time being. Dinner'll be at around six thirty, and feel free to come downstairs any time if you'd like."

Dean glanced at Jimmy, then at Sam, before finally meeting Mary's eyes. His smile was tentative but much more open than any other expression John and Mary had seen all afternoon.

Satisfied, John and Mary left the boys be, closing the bedroom door behind them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** There are a couple things not technically correct regarding foster care, but I tried to keep most of it true to source. Suspend your disbelief and enjoy, haha. :)

This is literally the first story I've ever sat down to write where I had an entire plot worked out beforehand. Theoretically it means I'll actually finish it (cough Wish cough), but this is meant as a stress-outlet, not a stress-causer. Be prepared for sizable gaps between posts.

So Mary is from a hunter family, Jimmy is on meds because he's talking to angels, Walker may or may not have hunter connections... what could this mean for our Winchester family? *evil grin*


	2. Chapter 2

Mary resisted the urge to flip the radio on as she pulled out ground beef, lettuce, and potatoes to begin getting supper ready. Though listening to music often helped the simple chores go by a little faster, she didn't want to miss any of the children coming down the stairs.

She had just finished mashing the beef into patties for hamburgers when she heard the tell-tale soft creaks of wooden boards. She glanced over her shoulder, unable to resist grinning as all three of them poked their heads around the corner, peering into the kitchen.

"What's for dinner?" Dean asked, trying to mask the tremor in his voice with gruff bravado. He stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. Sam had one hand fisted in the back of Dean's jacket, looking around the kitchen as if there were bombs hidden in every cupboard. Jimmy was their silent shadow.

"I figured something simple would be best," Mary said, slapping the last of the burger patties onto the plate and moving to the sink to rinse her hands off. "Burgers, baked potatoes, and a salad. Sound good to you? I think I have an apple pie in the freezer downstairs I could bring up for dessert tomorrow, if you'd like."

With her back turned away from the boys, Mary missed the way Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Sounds fine to me," the older boy finally mumbled, although everything but the words themselves radiated the fact that it definitely did not sound fine to him.

Satisfied with his answer, she wiped her hands off on a dishrag and made her way over to the table, where she pulled a chair out and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. She tried to project an open and inviting air, one that encouraged questions and eased tempers and fears.

Dean didn't bite. He hmph-ed under his breath, taking Jimmy gently by the hand and steering them out of the kitchen, leaving Mary confused and crestfallen. She weaved her fingers together in her lap, sighing lightly.

The rest of the afternoon and evening continued on much in the same vein. Mary passed off the patties to John to begin grilling, trying several more times to engage with Dean, the only boy currently verbal, to no avail. Dean gave technically polite and complete answers to her easy questions, but offered no extraneous information and would often leave the room when the conversation lulled.

When six thirty rolled around, Mary mechanically began to set the table, only just remembering that their family now consisted of five, not two, and chuckled under her breath as she went and fished out more silverware. Plates were laid out, dishes arranged, and John meandered in, smelling faintly of smoke and car oil.

"Wash your hands," she scolded, noticing immediately the black streaks on his palms. He pouted, rolling his eyes, but complied.

The boys, attracted by the delightful smell, honed in on the dining room with all of the ferocity of hungry children. Dean sat next to John and Jimmy next to Mary, so that Sam was protected on both sides from the adults. Still, the youngest did look faintly unsettled. Mary aimed a reassuring smile at him, but that only seemed to make him more nervous, if anything.

"Dean, would you serve your brother? You know what he likes best," Mary offered. Dean nodded, reaching hesitantly for the salad bowl, but Jimmy blinked and shook his head. Obediently, Dean retracted his hand, letting out a gusty sigh.

"We have to say grace first," Jimmy rasped. His voice was surprisingly gritty, as if he'd been yelling for hours, but the truly astonishing fact was that it was actually a tone lower than Dean's. She'd just assumed by Dean's natural command that he was the oldest. Apparently not. She filed that away for later examination.

"We don't normally say grace before eating," John said, casting an uncertain glance at his wife, who just lifted her eyebrows and shrugged minutely.

In their classes, they had been urged not to put religious pressure on their charges. The Winchesters often went to services on Sundays, as most of this part of Lawrence did, but they would only take the boys if they asked to go. Praying before meals was a habit neither had developed; to have a foster child more religious than the foster parent came as a bit of a surprise to them.

"Why don't you say grace, then, Jimmy?" Mary took John's hand and held the other out to the oldest boy, even more pleasantly surprised when he took it. Sam grabbed the other children's hands with startling ferocity and closed his eyes, laying his head on the table. Mary had to stifle a snort at the child-like behavior. Dean didn't reach for John's hand, instead tapping his fingers on the table, staring resolutely at the steaming plate of burgers.

"Dear God," Jimmy said, bowing his head, "thank you for this food and for this new house and for us being together. Thank you for the nice people and keep them nice forever. Thank you for Cas, and thank Cas for keeping us safe. Amen."

Cas? Mary quietly echoed the closing and began fixing her plate, keeping one eye on the brother pair and the other on the now-silent Jimmy. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure what to think of the three children softly eating at her table.

She did get the feeling that life was no longer going to be simple and calm with them around. She wasn't sure if those were old hunter instincts or just plain paranoia.

* * *

><p>After an evening spent in tense silence, Mary and John escorted the boys to bed at nine thirty, reasoning that it was just late enough to appease Dean's independent spirit and early enough that Sam would still get enough sleep. Mary more or less had to coerce Jimmy to take his bedtime medication as Dean glared holes into her head from the hallway outside the upstairs bathroom.<p>

They said goodnight from the hall, as Dean insisted he could put everyone to bed himself, and left the door cracked via Sam's instructions, relayed through his older brother. After flipping on a small night-light in the bathroom, they quietly made their way downstairs, unanimously deciding to call it a day themselves.

Mary slipped into a nightgown and curled up on the bed next to her husband, rubbing at her weary eyes. John said nothing, simply opting to turn the lamp off and wrap her in his warm embrace.

She didn't even realize they'd drifted to sleep until an earth-shattering scream woke them only a few hours later. Mary almost went for the shotgun she had hidden in her hope chest, but as the screaming abated and was replaced by muffled sobs, she realized it was no supernatural threat but just one of the boys. Nightmare, probably. She should have figured.

Mary hastened up the stairs, John hot on her tail, and the couple burst into the boys' room, switching the light on, taking in the controlled chaos before them.

The bunk beds were empty; all three were huddled in an impressive blanket nest on the freestanding full-sized bed on the opposite wall. Sam was crying, alternating between incoherent ramblings and heavy sobs, while Dean anxiously rubbed his back and whispered calming words into his little brother's ears. Jimmy was cross-legged, a book open in his lap and a tiny flashlight on, one hand resting comfortingly on Sam's knee.

Mary immediately moved forward and knelt at the edge of the bed, reaching out trembling fingers to stroke down little Sam's arm. Dean's subsequent glare could have leveled a small building, but she'd faced much worse than an irate preteen in her life.

"Does he have nightmares often?" she finally whispered, meeting Dean's angry gaze, when Sam's frantic gasps for air had subsided into more manageable hiccups. John appeared at her shoulder, offering a wet washcloth and a box of tissues. Dean snatched the cloth from him even as Sam took a tissue and blew his nose.

"Sometimes," Dean said grudgingly. "The move, y'know, it shakes 'em loose." He patted Sam's back again, turning his face up and patting at the chapped skin with the damp rag. "Was it Gordon again?" he asked very softly, so softly Mary almost missed it.

Sam gave the tiniest little shake of his head. Mary leaned forward, curious and dreading if there would be further explanation. To her continued astonishment, though, Sam spoke.

"It was a man," the youngest boy whispered, scraping a trembling hand across his forehead to remove the sweat that had collected during the dream. "A bad man, Dean, with yellow eyes. He wanted to take me away, take me away from you and Jimmy!"

He dissolved into tears again, but as soon as the words had crossed his lips, Jimmy stiffened. The electric blue eyes that had been fastened on his book - the Bible, Mary now saw, the gold-trimmed edges were unmistakable - turned and locked onto Sam with all the force of a blow.

"Yellow eyes?" John said, confused. "People don't have yellow eyes, Sam. Just brown or blue or green, sometimes special ones like gray. No yellow."

Sam snuffled miserably into his tissue.

"Are you sure his eyes were yellow?" Jimmy asked, his voice hoarse. "Are you sure? This is very important. Cas will want to know."

"Oh, screw it with the Cas bullcrap, Jimmy!" Dean snapped. The older boy retreated, unsure, before grabbing his Bible and moving carefully to the far corner of the bed, where he curled up and began leafing through pages at an alarming rate.

"Watch that language, Dean," Mary warned. She pushed herself to her feet with a groan, glancing back at her husband, who had taken a few steps back in anticipation of a verbal back-slap from the protective older brother. She was almost grateful Jimmy had cut in before Dean could get seriously angry at John for trying to comfort Sam, and then was ashamed that she was glad one of the boys had gotten snapped at.

"Would anyone like a glass of water or warm milk before we try this again?" Mary asked into the silence that fell after her admonishment.

"Water, please," Sam's quiet voice came from the vicinity of Dean's chest.

"John?"

He nodded and stepped out. The glasses were downstairs, so the time it would take to grab one would give everyone a moment to cool down.

"Is there anything else in the dream you want to talk about, Sam?" she murmured softly. She let the pain she felt at being unable to help shape the sad smile on her face, and Dean toned his protectiveness down just a notch in response.

"He was a bad man," Sam repeated, voice trembling. "He killed Mama. All of his eyes were swirly yellow. He said he had big plans for me, that he wanted to take me away-!" Dean shushed him as he let out a hiccup-sob-cough.

"No more," Dean said harshly. "He needs to go to sleep."

John reappeared conveniently at those very words, handing the glass to Dean, who then passed it further on to Sam. The young boy drank half the glass before giving it back to Dean, who stashed it on the dresser.

"We should go," John said, tenderly taking hold of Mary's elbow. "We're right downstairs if you need us," he told Dean, who nodded in response, and John lead his wife back out into the hall, repeating the lights-off, door cracked routine from hours ago. As the pair slowly trekked down the stairs, John stifled a yawn. Mary, on the other hand, was wide awake. Her girlhood training had often consisted of being suddenly woken and expected to perform competently for hours afterward; she would be awake for a long while yet.

"Nightmares," John muttered as they crawled back into bed. "Poor kid."

She made an assenting noise, eyes wide open and staring as John began to snore. Gears in her head were turning, inching toward a dangerous set of thoughts.

She had a phone call to make.

* * *

><p>"Yeah, Bobby, I know it's early, I'm sorry," Mary apologized, glancing covertly over her shoulder. John and the boys were still sleeping; outside, the sky was still the deep purple of pre-dawn. She had been unable to fall asleep again after the nightmare incident and wanted to ring her Midwest information contact without four sets of questioning eyes on her back the whole time.<p>

"You've got a lot of nerve callin' me up like this, Winchester," the old man growled. The man seemed to be irritated all the time, no matter what she did or said, so she blazed on.

"I said I was sorry, alright? I need you to look some things up for me, though."

There was a rush of static, as if he'd sighed long and hard. "Shoot," he grunted.

"First, what does the hunter collective know about angels?"

"Angels." Bobby's voice was flat and hard. "You called me at the bitch-asscrack 'a dawn to ask me about _angels_?"

"Please?"

Bobby grumbled out a few more curses before she could twist his arm into agreeing. Dropping her father's name helped, especially when she brought up the poltergeist they'd worked together to bring down about fifteen years back and how Samuel Campbell had saved Bobby's life when the damn thing went crazy.

"Anything else?" Bobby said sarcastically.

"Yes." Her free hand balled into a fist on the counter, knuckles shining white. "Has anyone ever mentioned to you anything about a man with yellow eyes?"

"Eh?"

"Not a yellow iris," she elaborated, "entirely yellow eyes. Kind of swirly."

The line went silent. Mary had to will her heart to ease up from its painful clenching at the loss of sound.

"Hm," Bobby finally said, "Sounds vaguely familiar. It's been a long while - I'll need to phone some old contacts, if they're still alive. Give me a week to do the research and I'll call ya back."

"Thank you," she said, unable to keep the joy from her tone. "Thank you."

"Whatcha need this info for, anyhow? You workin' some kinda weirdo job or what?"

"If your research pans out, I'll tell you." Without exchanging any further pleasantries or platitudes, Bobby hung up. Mary stared at the phone in her hand, mildly offended, before stowing it in its cradle and returning to the kitchen window.

Part of her hated - honestly, really hated - the fact that her hunter skills might become necessary again. She'd sworn to leave that life a long time ago, the very day she and John made the decision to elope from her overly-controlling hunting-comes-first family. She resented everything she'd been put through, from the weapons training to the hand-to-hand skills she'd been forced to learn to the hunts she had to be dragged out on.

And yet - if it kept her family safe (and those boys were family, now, at least for as long as they stayed and maybe longer if her heart could take it), was it something to be shunned? If there was some evil thing haunting poor little Sam and she killed it, what would she gain? She wouldn't be able to tell Sam about it, or Dean, not even John. His nightmares would probably return to his previous abusive foster parent, and she would have done them little good by trying to get herself killed.

In the burgeoning early morning light, as the eastern horizon began to lighten and the warm sun chased away the curtains of purple-black, Mary regretted making that phone call. She suddenly felt very silly for jumping to conclusions.

Jimmy was schizophrenic - the "angel" Cas was nothing but a product of his mind. Sam was having nightmares about being taken away because they had just moved into a new home, and new placements were bound to bring up old fears.

She was overreacting to the highest degree. There was absolutely nothing supernatural involved with what was going on with the boys.

Satisfied but unable to shake the quiet suspicions of her training, she began taking bowls and flour from the cupboard and set about to mixing up some pancakes for breakfast for the rest of the household.

For now, the problems of the world could wait. She had her boys to take care of.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for the reviews! I'm fiddling with my usual writing style, trying to be less "describe the setting" and more "weave in setting details as we go". Hopefully it makes it less cumbersome to read. More fiddling with foster care stuff, my bad, I am really sorry.

Plot is afoot. Go Mary, be a badass. :)

I take suggestions for "family moments", because I love me some Wee!chesters. The exercise here is to intersperse bonding with crazy supernatural plot things, so we'll see if I can balance the tones without making anyone OOC.

See ya~


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